


Rewrite the World

by lemonpika



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Metafiction, Mutual Pining, Roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27723932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonpika/pseuds/lemonpika
Summary: AU where the characters are the cast members ofDeath Notethe live-action TV series. Mello, who harbors lingering feelings for his best friend Near, looks forward to performing fan service for the Mello/Near shippers, but the appearance of a new character on the show throws a wrench into his plans of actualizing the Friends-to-Lovers trope. This new boy — his goggles are so orange that it's difficult to determine his eye color. (Original version published on FF.net in 2012 under the username IFdreamer.)
Relationships: L & Yagami Light, L/Yagami Light, Matt | Mail Jeevas & Mello | Mihael Keehl, Matt | Mail Jeevas/Mello | Mihael Keehl, Mello | Mihael Keehl & Near | Nate River, Mello | Mihael Keehl/Near | Nate River
Comments: 26
Kudos: 22





	1. Royal Blue Couch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PAIRINGS: Matt/Mello. Mello/Near.
> 
> SPOILERS? Yes, for the entire series.

Now was as good a time as any to confess: Mello enjoyed fan service more than he should. 

When Misa had first appeared in Death Note, Matsuda had predicted that she would be instantly paired off with Light, but this theory had proven wrong — the Light/L shippers were as passionate as ever. The others had simply regarded the issue with amusement and had joked around that it was a different world now, where Boys’ Love was not only accepted by the fan community, but was also worshipped to the point of blind obsession. Light in particular had been vastly entertained by the whole business, and he and L would spend hours at a time plowing through enormous hauls of fan fiction. The two would laugh their heads off as the stories got more and more outrageous.

“Tell me, Matsuda,” Light would tease, “did you have any idea that including a handcuffed fight scene in episode 18 would spark the overactive imaginations of the Light/L fangirls?”

Matsuda would reply with an all-knowing sigh, then say, “It’s all part of the plan. A little tweak here and there to fuel the show’s popularity won’t hurt anyone, will it?”

And Light and L would continue to howl.

Mello, however, had been delighted for a different reason. He had thought — or maybe had hoped — that when the time came for his and Near’s appearance in the series, the same thing would happen. Place two pleasantly eccentric characters in one scene, throw in little hints of angst and competitiveness, and what do you get? Yes, that’s right! First-class slash! And because Matsuda was always eager to go along with what the fans wanted, he would definitely ask the more popular pairings, the Mello/Near love team included, to do fan service. Therefore, Mello nursed extravagant visions of Near and himself sitting side by side as they read the fan fiction supporting their pairing. Maybe, just maybe, all those sweet and seductive pieces would finally wedge themselves into Near’s brain, and Near would realize accordingly that he would like nothing better than to engage in a similarly sweet and seductive relationship with Mello.

As it turned out, Mello was right. The fans loved them.

When Matsuda started prepping them about fan service, Mello couldn’t help feeling smug.

“Say you’re walking down the street together,” Matsuda said, “and you see a lot of girls looking. What do you do?”

Near opened his mouth to speak, but Mello beat him to it. “We’ll walk along for a while, looking like we barely notice all the screaming fans because we’re lost in our own private universe. Then Near will casually hold my hand like he wasn’t really thinking about it. He’ll wave to the fans. I’ll look down at him with an annoyed expression, as if I’m jealous that I no longer have his undivided attention. I’ll put my arm around him and look all high and mighty about it. The point is, this all has to look sweet, but not blatantly lovey-dovey.”

Matsuda was ecstatic with this response. “That’s right! Near, maybe you can tell me again why this is a very meticulous process?”

“That’s how fan service is,” Near said promptly. “We cater to exactly what the fans want. No more, no less. We show them what they like to see.”

“Excellent. Near, don’t forget that you’re going to be interviewed by Kurosaki Ami two days from now, so review the notes I wrote for you. . . . I think I gave them to your assistant, so just ask him. Mello, same show, a day after Near. Good work, guys.”

“So, Mello,” Kurosaki Ami said, smiling flirtatiously at him, “we’re delighted to have you here with us tonight. I must say — and I know that I’m speaking for everyone in this room — that we all enjoyed your performance in the last few episodes. When Director Matsuda killed off L in episode 25, we feared that things would get a little boring, but it looks like we were wrong!”

Mello leaned back comfortably on the royal blue couch. He took care to look both sexy and intimidating as he smiled back at the talk show host. “Well, yes, I’m anything but boring. And you should have known better than to think Matsuda didn’t have anything good up his sleeve. Things only get more interesting from here. You can take my word for it — the rest of the series will blow your minds. And of course the episodes I star in are the very best. Don’t you all agree?” The audience hooted and applauded.

“Clearly, everyone strongly agrees. But now we move on to the next subject we _must_ discuss: Near.” Excited stirring from the crowd. “The story has made it perfectly plain that you and Near are rivals, and yet a huge percentage of fans begs to differ.”

Pretending to consider, Mello rubbed his chin for a few seconds then groaned loudly. “You guys, I can’t think properly without my chocolate. If you give me a huge bar of Hershey’s, then we may proceed.” A guy from the studio hurried to the set with a large slab of milk chocolate and bashfully handed it to Mello. “Yes, thank you.” Mello took a big bite, grinned theatrically, and gave a thumbs-up to the camera. The members of the audience tittered, delighted by the whole charade. “So, Ami-san, where were we?”

“We were discussing Near, and don’t you dare change the topic again!” she said in mock anger.

“Hmm. . . . Near and I get along well enough, or at least we try our best. It isn’t easy, given the huge contrast in our personalities. Most of the time, we’re cool. But it really depends.”

“But do you find him attractive?” Ami persisted. The fangirls in the audience started whispering and nudging each other.

“Do you have to ask? He’s adorable.” 

Fangirls screamed in earnest. Ami attempted to pacify them, but she herself was grinning. “Now settle down everyone! Mello, won’t you put us out of our agony and tell us if there’s something between you two?”

“Something between us? Not really, not the last time I checked. There certainly wasn’t anything between us last night, and we slept on the same bed. He’s very warm, I can tell you that much!” There was raucous cheering all around, and Mello had to raise his voice to say, “All right! All right! I’m kidding. You know I can’t tell you anything about that. Do you want Matsuda to kill me? So, really, I’m not allowed to answer that question. It’s a secret.”

“Thank you for bearing with us, Mello. Now moving on to a more serious topic. The following are standard questions we ask the _Death Note_ family, because aside from the fact that we receive informative and detailed answers, we also learn a lot about the interviewee. How exactly was _Death Note_ conceived, and what is the story behind the unusual closeness among the main cast members?”

“ _Death Note_ is the director’s brainchild. The idea came to Matsuda when he was still in middle school. This idea consisted not only of a story, but of a world. Yes, that’s what it is to me — the world.”

“I’m afraid I don’t really understand what you mean when you say that,” she said apologetically. “Can you please enlighten me?”

“You see,” Mello explained, “it would be natural for any viewer to perceive _Death Note_ as a fictional creation; however, to me, that’s as real as it gets. In my world, the Death Note really, truly exists. This perception of mine was in fact implanted into my brain by Matsuda. I’m sure you’ve heard about the way it happened. He gathered some students from his school. . . . No, ‘gathered’ isn’t the right word. He _selected_ us — six students from various backgrounds, but with a single common characteristic that was essential to the plan: a certain class of quirkiness. L with his sweets, Near with his toys, me with my chocolate, Mikami with his ironclad sense of justice, Light — who was a dominant bitch even then — and Misa, who already held an undying, often _suffocating_ obsession for Light. So Matsuda asked us, do you want to create a new world? We said yes. He said, are you willing to give up everything for that new world? We said yes. He said, are you sure? There’s no going back. We said yes. He said, you are now erased, and I will rewrite you at my leisure. I know it sounds absurd, but that’s how it happened. Matsuda might seem like a blockhead on TV, but he’s actually a charismatic, influential, and extremely intelligent individual. He’s our leader, has always been and will always be. I mean, clearly, he’s sheer genius, isn’t he? Thanks to him, look where we all are now!”

“Indeed, _Death Note_ has won a whopping 52 awards so far, has been translated into 29 languages, _and_ has been dubbed by _TIME_ as ‘arguably the most sensational television show today.’ Congratulations!”

“Thank you. All this praise, even though the series isn’t finished yet. . . . Sometimes, we pinch ourselves, thinking that it’s all just a dream.”

“Oh look at that, we’re nearly out of time! Mello, thank you for coming here tonight. It was a pleasure to interview you.”

“Anytime.”

“All right, we have just about time for one last question. Matsuda-san has hinted that this week features an appearance from a new character. Your comment on that? Should we be excited about this?”

“No comment. I don’t want to spoil the story for you.”

“There were rumors that this character’s name was Matt.”

“Was that his name? To be honest, I kind of forgot. It’s a small role and, hey, I’m a busy man.”


	2. Orange Goggles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PAIRINGS: Matt/Mello. Mello/Near.
> 
> SPOILERS? Yes, for the entire series.

“Near?”

Near was curled into a tiny ball, falling asleep. Mello tried to shake him awake, but he merely grumbled and screwed his eyes more tightly shut. His bed was irretrievably messy, with books and building blocks piled high. Several open books occupied most of the bed space — these, in fact, were the reason Near had developed the habit of sleeping curled up, which lent him the appearance of being smaller than he already was.

Mello crouched down and lightly touched his friend’s forehead. He rather thought that Near had a slight fever, but he knew that Matsuda would be upset all the same if Near didn’t finish studying his lessons.

“Near,” Mello repeated, his voice just loud enough for the boy to hear, “you have to read your books now or Matsuda will be mad at me again. You know he’s always blaming me whenever you do anything wrong.”

“Don’t want to,” Near murmured, his eyes still closed. “I’m really tired.”

Mello sighed in defeat. He knew full well that not even the apocalypse could wake up Near if he did fall asleep. He wrapped a blanket around his friend, lifted him up, and carried him to the adjacent bed, which was covered with crisp, newly-washed sheets. He was in the process of yanking Near’s legs down from where they were cramped against his small chest when the younger boy’s voice floated out, sounding groggy. “This is your bed, Mello.”

“Yours is a mess. You shouldn’t get used to sleeping in such tight spaces or you’ll never get taller.”

“Then where will you sleep?”

“I’ll put your books back on the shelf and your toys back in the toy box then I’ll sleep on your bed.”

“But I’m not done with my work.”

“Just go to sleep. I’ll do it for you, so just go to sleep.”

“Thank you,” Near said, then his eyes fluttered closed.

The next morning, Mello and Near took the short walk to the dilapidated building that housed the sets for the SPK headquarters, the police headquarters, and Mello’s hideout. Near was chattering away about something or other, and Mello did try to listen, but he only found himself getting more and more annoyed as he observed the younger boy’s face and assessed his condition. Near had bloodshot eyes and paler skin than usual, and although Matsuda would probably approve — he thought that geniuses should generally look weak and tired because they spent too much time thinking — Mello was worried that Near’s frail body would eventually waste away due to the extreme working conditions. It angered Mello — he didn’t much care if their fellow cast members took to sleeping during break times out of sheer exhaustion, but he couldn’t stand it when his best friend’s health was the one jeopardized.

“Look, Mello.” Near was prodding his arm.

“What?” Mello asked, feeling guilty that he hadn’t been paying attention.

“Those girls are fans, aren’t they?” Near muttered.

Mello turned to the source of Near’s concern and spotted two female students looking at them. The girls were whispering and clutching at each other in apparent excitement. He acted quickly, grabbing the back of Near’s white pajama top and pulling him close. He glared at the girls for a while then gave a cold smile. “Problem, ladies?” he purred. They scurried away, looking a little frightened, but stole furtive looks as they retreated. 

“You’re so quick, Mello,” Near said wistfully. “I wish I could do it the way you do.”

“You don’t have to. Just look puzzled and embarrassed. You’re the uke, so all you have to do is to look cute.”

“Ah! So mean! Do you really think I look like the girl in this relationship?”

“I said you were cute, but you’re not quite there yet.”

Near smacked the back of his head, and Mello tried not to smile.

“Matsuda!” Mello called.

Matsuda turned so fast that his neck cricked, and he cried out in pain. Several crew members looked at him, alarmed, but he waved his hand with an offhand comment before jogging toward Mello. “You called?” he said. He looked a little harassed, his fingers drumming impatiently against the clipboard he was holding, but Mello could see that he was in a relatively good mood.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Matsuda was immediately on guard. He hesitated, gauging Mello’s expression, before speaking with a voice both pleasant and dangerous. “What if I told you I didn’t want to hear it?”

Mello pursed his lips. “I believe you.”

“Then we understand each other perfectly. Now listen, I’m really glad you came early because there’s someone I want you to meet. His role isn’t all that important, but as he’s supposed to be your best friend in the story, it’s better if you get to know each other even a little bit so that you two have, at the very least, passable onscreen chemistry.”

“Fine. Where is he?”

“He’s that guy in the corner, the one reading Kerouac.”

At that moment, the boy looked up and met Mello’s eyes. They stared at each other steadily even as Matsuda patted Mello on the shoulder and hurried off. Mello walked toward the boy, and when he stood directly in front of him, he planted a hand on his hip and gazed downward, his eyes glazing over. The boy looked up at Mello from where he sat on the floor with his legs splayed apart and his hands fingering the pages of a novel. His goggles were so orange that it was difficult to distinguish his eye color.

“Mello, right? What do you want?” the boy asked.

There was a crease between Mello’s eyebrows (or the place where his eyebrows should have been — he shaved them regularly, under Matsuda’s orders) as he looked down in utter boredom. “That’s it?”

The boy laughed. “Is that what you say to someone you’ve just met?”

“I say what I like. Got a problem with that?”

“Hey now. I’m not looking for a fight.” The boy was quiet for a short moment, but when Mello said nothing in reply, he volunteered, “I’m playing Matt.” Silence. “You know, in _Death Note_.”

“I know that,” Mello jeered. “I’ve read the script, and this is kind of a letdown. Matt’s another quirky character, isn’t he? Can you even play him? Where are the video games? The cigarettes?”

“I’m awfully sorry to be a disappointment,” Matt said in a voice that wasn’t sorry at all.

“Apology accepted.” 

Mello was just about to walk away, when Matt decided it was high time to prattle. “So talk to me. I’m not big on the story, but the guys from _Death Note_ are pretty intriguing. You guys were supposedly trained to _be_ the characters even from a young age, right?”

“Right.”

“That’s so weird!” Matt slammed his book shut. He seemed like he was settling in for a long conversation. “What do you mean by ‘trained,’ exactly?”

It was like being on the talk show all over again. Mello considered walking away without another word, but the boy’s curiosity seemed genuine enough and therefore difficult to resist. “For example, Light, L, Near, and I are all supposed to have superior IQ. Obviously, Matsuda would be hard-pressed to find four people who are that smart, so he _made_ us smart. I remember that my first task was to copy out the Encyclopedia Britannica, word for word.”

“Like Jabez Wilson from _The Red-Headed League_ ,” Matt said, nodding.

Mello boggled. “You’ve read that?”

“Yeah? Why?”

“ _And_ remembered his name?”

“Is that a crime now? Remembering names?”

“He’s a forgettable character.”

“Don’t look so surprised. It’s nothing special. I have to read a lot, see. I’m majoring in English Literature.”

“No shit.”

“Shit-free, man.”

“You don’t look bookish much.”

“I was reading just now, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“That’s different. Wannabe actors customarily lug around books and laptops, trying to look well-read and tech-savvy.”

“Yeah, right. You just expected me to be thuggish, like my character.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Thank you very much.”

A hand touched Mello’s shoulder. He looked around and saw Mikami behind him. “You’re on, you two,” Mikami said, nodding at the both of them.

“Great!” Matt stood up and stretched his limbs. “I hope I won’t forget any of my lines.”

“All zero of them?” Mello asked sardonically.

“Be nice, Mello,” Mikami warned. He looked at Matt and added, “I’m sorry, Mail. Mello here doesn’t play well with strangers, but if you hang out with him long enough, he’ll warm up to you. I hope he wasn’t discouraging you.”

“No worries, Mikami-san. It was interesting.” Matt was clearly addressing Mikami, but he didn’t spare a single glance at the man — he was still looking intently at Mello, who began to feel uncomfortable and averted his eyes.

Mello was still staring determinedly at the floor when a small hand tugged at his own. He looked up in surprise and saw Near standing beside him, smiling up at his reddening face. “Come on,” he said to Mello, “Matsuda’s calling.”

Near pulled him away, and they were soon striding through the crowded corridors. Mello felt suddenly light-headed, almost tripping over a crew member crouching and adjusting some wires, but Matt somehow caught hold of the back of his leather jacket and pulled him upright.

“Be careful.” Matt flashed a grin at him, then ran ahead of them before Mello could thank him.


	3. White Contraption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PAIRINGS: Matt/Mello. Mello/Near.
> 
> SPOILERS? Yes, for the entire series.

Mello never did find it hard to act. He was so in touch with his character that the challenge of setting temporarily aside mundane matters and focusing on portraying his role to the best of his abilities came as no trouble to him, a fact that always increased Matsuda’s sense of self-congratulation. This was what Matsuda had wanted all along, a _real_ story with _real_ characters, and the effortless yet flawless performances of his champions made him happier than anything.

Unfortunately, every silver lining has its cloud, and as lucky as they were to have a main cast of competent professionals, they were equally unlucky in trying to find a set of supporting characters that could keep up with their formidable skills. Mello often lost his patience with these people (“Do you know why we’re paying you? We’re paying you because we need to get a job done, so for heaven’s sake, get the job done already!”), with the result that Matsuda was forever having to chase after him to cajole him back to the set with fantastic bribes of a year’s supply of chocolates.

Alas, they were having this problem once again.

The instructions had been simple enough: sit down, keep still, and play games. But when a crew member passed Matt a Nintendo DS as his prop, he got so excited that he almost dropped it. 

“So this is the DS,” Matt declared, his eyes shining as he lovingly stroked the contraption’s smooth white contours.

Saying nothing, Mello took off his jacket and sat opposite Matt. He picked up the chocolate bar lying enticingly on a table in front of him, then looked over to the camera for the signal that he could start eating. When he saw that the cameraman was still busy poking various buttons, he took a small bite, then, trying his best to remain disciplined, held the chocolate away from his face to avoid further temptation.

“How do you turn this on?” Matt suddenly asked, rudely interrupting Mello’s preoccupation.

“That switch over there,” he replied shortly, then watched as Matt experimented with visibly inexperienced fingers. His tongue was stuck out for reasons known only to himself, and his elbows rose as he punched the buttons with unnecessary force.

What a weirdo. Maybe the guy could bring quirky to the table, after all. Mello felt the sudden urge to burst out laughing, but he managed to stop himself just in time.

Matt looked up to see Mello smirking, but Matt was a boy who apparently didn’t know how to be embarrassed. “How do you play this?” he inquired. “Am I doing it right?”

“You’re doing fine,” Mello lied.

“I keep dying,” Matt muttered, but he seemed to be talking more to himself now. The two of them were quiet for a while — Mello trying to resist nipping at his chocolate, and Matt playing the DS for the first time. It occurred then to Mello that Matt wasn’t a bad sort, really. Unlike most other supporting cast members that Mello had met, Matt was oddly comfortable in his presence, which in turn made it easier for Mello to relax . . . that was, until Matt swore loudly as he lost a fifteenth time, which effectively crushed out any burgeoning positive feelings that Mello might have felt.

“Please promise you won’t do that when the cameras start rolling,” Mello implored.

“I won’t,” Matt assured him.

“Shit!”

“Cut!” Matsuda yelled before burying his face behind his hands in total desperation. This was around the thirtieth take, and tempers were running high, time was running out. But as was earlier established, Matt didn’t understand the concept of being embarrassed.

“Sorry!” he hollered to the director. “I was caught up in the game —”

“Christ, Matt, can’t you live for five seconds without resorting to obscene language? Why can’t you just shut up and play the damn game?” Mello was so exasperated that he had to expend every effort not to scream.

“Hey, I said I was sorry,” Matt whined. “This game is really hard, you know!”

“Listen. You see what Matsuda’s doing now?”

“He’s talking to some dude with headphones.”

“That’s not ‘some dude with headphones.’ That’s the TD.”

“TD . . .?” Matt’s face was screwed up — he appeared to be thinking very hard. “You mean . . . tuberculosis?”

“I mean ‘technical director,’ you dolt!”

“Right! Right! I knew that. So what if they’re talking?”

“That guy’s in charge of the technical aspects of production, obviously, but Matsuda’s pretty close to him. They go way back, so Matsuda respects his opinion. If they’re talking about calling in a replacement, which I think they are. . . .” Mello’s voice trailed off — Matt’s eyes were wide with horror now.

“You . . . you don’t think. . . .” Matt was spluttering.

Mello was starting to feel guilty. “I’ll try talking to Matsuda, so sit tight. Don’t panic just yet.”

Mello got up and walked toward Matsuda. Matt might be annoying as hell, but did that mean that he deserved to lose his job on his very first day on set? Sure, he was screwing up, but he obviously wasn’t doing it on purpose.

“Director,” Mello said, nodding at Matsuda.

“Look, Mello, I know you’re pissed, but this guy somehow beat everyone at the auditions. We’re thinking one more take, then we can start making some calls. . . .” Matsuda was rifling through his trusty clipboard as he spoke.

“Give him a few more takes. He’s warming up to the role. I can feel it.”

Matsuda looked up, startled. “Are you doing your New Year’s resolutions early this year or something? How unlike you to be so understanding!”

“Let’s just cut the guy some slack. After all, he performed the best during auditions, right?” Sensing curiosity in Matsuda’s expression, Mello kept blathering on, making excuses for this person he barely knew. “It’s probably stage fright or whatever. A headache. A family problem. A bad day. We all have bad days, so we should give him a break.”

“All right,” Matsuda relented. “Get back to your position, and let’s buckle down to work!”

Mello was walking away when Matsuda called his name. “Yeah?” he asked, turning around.

“You know what? In spite of Mail’s poor self-control, the two of you seem to be generating some kickass chemistry on set.”

“What? We’re not even talking in this scene.”

“That’s what makes it even more impressive. Can’t you feel it, crackling in the air?”

“I don’t feel anything, but if that’s true, then that’s probably a good thing.” Mello shook his head. This Matsuda. He was getting stranger by the second.

Mello had turned away when Matsuda called to him yet again. “Mello! He’s single!”

Mello squinted at him. “ _What?_ ”

“He’s single. Mail. Matt. He’s up for grabs.”

“And . . .? Why are you telling me this, exactly?”

“I don’t know. I just thought you’d want to know.” Matsuda was carefully surveying Mello’s expression, and something there seemed to satisfy him. A goofy grin broke out over Matsuda’s face. “Ah, I knew it. You think he’s cute, don’t you?”

“ _Cute?!_ Are you crazy?” Mello directed a death glare at Matsuda, but the director was laughing now.

Mello stomped away as noisily as possible, trying to drown out the sound of Matsuda’s laughter behind him.


	4. Amber Liquor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PAIRINGS: Matt/Mello. Mello/Near.
> 
> SPOILERS? Yes, for the entire series.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: Homophobic slurs.

The _Death Note_ family traditionally marked a member’s death in the series with an exclusive celebration, which doubled as a chance to snipe endlessly at each other and get blind drunk. In this case, they had just finished filming the scene of Mello’s death by Kiyomi Takada, and the seven of them gathered in his and Near’s flat for the ensuing party. Matsuda had brought a bottle of 1979 Dom Perignon, and Mikami scowled as he struggled to uncork it. L and Misa were playing a modified game of poker with ridiculous rules that only they could understand, giggling uncontrollably as they exchanged jokes that only they could comprehend. Mello, in the meantime, was rifling through stacks of chocolate bars in the refrigerator, attempting to find a toy robot that Near had misplaced — apparently, Near refused to relax until he found this “favorite” toy of his, but then again, did Near have any toy that _wasn’t_ his favorite? Huddled in a corner, Light was unusually quiet as he smoked a cigarette. None of them were permitted to smoke in public because Matsuda thought that it would destroy their image, and Light, being quite the chain-smoker in his pre- _Death Note_ days, relished the nicotine haze whenever he was momentarily free from public scrutiny.

At this point, several things happened in quick succession.

Mello discovered Near’s beloved robot behind a carton of chocolate milk, and he was shouting the good news to his best friend just as Mikami succeeded in popping off the cork, which shot straight toward the back of L’s unsuspecting head mid-laughter. Near whooped, L yelped, Light coughed up a cloud of smoke, and Matsuda called, “Come on, everyone! Time for some champers!”

There was a mad scrambling as they all hurried to find a spot around the table in the middle of the room. Everyone was talking all at once, catching up as if they hadn’t been in the same room for hours already. Mikami poured everyone their drinks, and when he finished, Matsuda cleared his throat authoritatively. The room fell silent as Matsuda raised his glass to make a toast. “To Mello,” he declared.

“To Mello.” They all lifted their glasses, then proceeded to sip their champagne.

“I can’t believe it’s finally finished,” Mello murmured, savoring the pleasant, prickly sensation bubbling down his throat.

Matsuda lowered his glass, twirled it slowly, and watched as the amber liquor swirled around. “I wouldn’t say that. _Death Note_ isn’t just a television show — it’s a full-fledged business. I’m sure we’ll continue to release spin-offs to the series even after its official conclusion.”

“Yeah,” L agreed. “Even though my role’s been over for a while now, there are still commercials and interviews and guest appearances in talk shows to keep me busy. It’s not really the end for you, Mello.”

“Perfect,” Mello said. “I’m simply not suited to a quiet life.”

Light refilled his glass then said, with his voice as nonchalant as could be, “You big fucking baby. Don’t see what you’re complaining about. You’re a lucky bastard, you know that?”

Mello’s response was unfazed. “Yeah, bitch? How’d you work that one out?” When Light opened his mouth to answer, Mello swiftly interrupted him. “Note that I’m not asking because I’m genuinely interested in your fake-deep insight. I’m asking because it’s always amusing to hear the endless drivel that spills from your mouth.” Despite the hostility dripping from Mello’s words, none of the others so much as batted an eyelash. This was how Mello and Light normally conversed.

Light smirked. “Drivel? How can it be drivel if it’s true? You get this cozy party. You get champers and a toast from our beloved director. And what do _I_ get? Given that I’m, ah, only the most important character in the entire goddamn show,” — Light was rolling his eyes now — “I have to work my ass off and stick it out until the very end, _and then_ I have to share my well-earned party with Near, Mikami, Misa, Matsuda, and all the other suckers who either survive or who don’t bite the dust until the finale. So count your blessings and suck it up, Goldilocks.”

“Why don’t you shut the hell up, prissy-pants? This bullshit you’re spouting is frankly embarrassing.”

“Prissy-pants, huh? Could be worse. I could be wearing leather skinny pants. Talk about embarrassing!”

“Got a problem with my leather? Real men wear leather.”

“Real men never wear leather that fucking _tight_.”

Mello threw his head back and laughed hollowly. “Oh, Light. You poor thing. If the tightness of my pants bothers you that much, then it’s _you_ who has a problem, not me. Admit it. You’ve been checking out my ass, and you’re feeling guilty about it.”

“ _Me?_ Checking _you_ out?” Light knocked back his drink — he’d had too many now, in too short a time. “Now that’s a laugh, coming from the biggest faggot in the room. Has sucking too many dicks crossed your eyes and blinded you to that unfortunate truth?”

The others had been getting progressively drunker and therefore quieter throughout this entire conversation between Mello and Light, but they all collectively held their breath as Light’s last words not only crossed the line but smashed it beyond repair. Five pairs of eyes watched as Mello’s face crumpled then dissolved. Hiding his spilling tears behind his hands, Mello stumbled to his feet and made his escape, the door slamming shut behind him. 

Light was staring dumbstruck at the door when a fist collided with his jaw and made him cry out. It was Near, looking uncharacteristically furious. “You asshole, Light.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but venom laced every syllable he spoke.

“What did I do?” Light rubbed his jaw, which was throbbing now. He appeared genuinely bewildered.

Near exploded, lunging forward, and was only prevented from punching Light once more by Mikami’s grip on his windmilling arms. “Let me at him!” Near yelled, thrashing against Mikami’s hold. “Nobody — family or not — gets to talk to Mello like that! Let me teach him a lesson he won’t ever forget!”

“Near, calm down,” Matsuda said firmly before turning away. As his eyes fell on Light, his expression became very ugly. “Light, if you don’t get your ass in gear and apologize to Mello right away, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Still reeling from this sudden turn of events, Light just stared at Matsuda. “Go, Light,” L urged, nudging him from behind.

Light got up to do as he was told. The bedroom door was unlocked, and he slipped inside to speak with Mello.

The flat was silent now except for L’s muffled snores. He, as well as Matsuda and Mikami, had passed out drunk on the floor. Only Near and Misa managed to remain conscious — Near wasn’t much of a drinker to begin with, while Misa could effortlessly drink all the guys under the table.

The two of them sat side by side without speaking, trying in vain to listen to the near inaudible voices coming from the bedroom.

Misa finally put down her empty glass and broke the silence. “Near, did you always know? About Mello?”

Near hugged his knees to his chest. “Not always.”

“Because he wasn’t always?”

“He pretended to be otherwise for the longest time. Lied to me, lied to himself, lied to everyone else. But I think he always knew, and soon enough I did too.”

“So . . . how do you feel about it?”

He quit staring at his own knees and looked at her with a gaze that was surprisingly steady for someone who was more than a little inebriated. “I don’t care if Mello is or is not. I don’t care who Mello can or cannot love. Friendship’s not like that — it doesn’t set conditions.” He hesitated, and his gray eyes seemed to pierce right through her. “Why, Misa? Do you dislike people like Mello?”

“No! No, of course I don’t.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lie to me.” Near’s voice was very quiet.

“I’m not lying!” Misa fretted. “I’m just — I’m not sure! People like that . . . they’re fun, and they’re funny. I’m not denying that, but —”

Near stared at her incredulously. “Fun? Funny? Now that you know the truth about Mello, is he nothing but a joke to you? Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Misa protested, thumping her fist against her chest as if attempting to convince Near — or herself — of her sincerity. “I know Mello —”

“That’s exactly right. You know Mello. The seven of us grew up together. We’re practically family now. Misa, you know him better than anyone out there can ever know him, so don’t allow something like this to ruin your perception of him. He hasn’t changed. He’s still our Mello.”

“Our Mello.” Misa nodded. “Yes.”

“You understand what I’m saying then?”

“I understand, Near.”

“I hope for your sake that you’re being honest because I don’t want to have to attack another person tonight.” Despite these words, a smile was tugging on Near’s lips.

“You like Mello a lot, don’t you?” Misa asked, somewhat shyly.

“I do. I like him more than anyone in the world.”

“He feels that way too, you know. About you.”

“Does he?” Near ducked his head and started to twirl tufts of his hair around his index finger, a habit whenever he was thinking hard.

“You don’t think so? It’s written all over his face.”

Near gave a small smile, but did not reply.


	5. Deep Purple Album

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PAIRINGS: Matt/Mello. Mello/Near.
> 
> SPOILERS? Yes, for the entire series.

The microwave beeped loudly, signaling that Matsuda’s macaroni and cheese dinner was ready to eat. He carefully lifted it out with a potholder and set it on the kitchen table, poured soda into a glass with ice, then transferred to the settee in the living room. As he sat down, he was reminded that the settee had been a gift from his ex-girlfriend, who had unceremoniously thrown out his old sofa after she declared it ‘not sophisticated enough.’ That ex-girlfriend was smart, talkative, rich, and utterly charming. Matsuda never did like her much. He didn’t particularly regret the decision to break up except during times like these, when the house was too quiet and the sky outside black and unforgiving.

A night like this would be easier if he wasn’t so contradictory in nature. He hated eating alone, but hated eating out even more. Drinking himself into oblivion was not an option either — he never consumed alcohol except during social gatherings. But that was the exception rather than the norm, and Matsuda mostly enjoyed a simple life. If that simple life entailed many instant meals and canned beverages (he couldn’t cook if his life depended on it), then it was a price he would have to pay.

He was about to turn on the TV when the doorbell chimed. Still holding the remote control, he pressed a button of the intercom on the wall right behind him. “Who is it?” he asked.

“It’s Mello,” a voice replied.

“Mello? What’s up?”

“I need to talk.”

Not again. Matsuda sighed. “Then talk. What’s on your mind, kid?”

“Just let me in, old man!”

Tutting, Matsuda walked to the door and opened it. There Mello stood in his usual achromatic attire. In his right hand, he held a slim black suitcase. His posture was unusually stiff and his lips were tightly set, but his eyes spoke volumes.

“Has someone died?” Matsuda said dryly.

“Drop the sarcasm. I’m not in the mood.”

Matsuda crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, so you’re the one giving orders now?”

Mello closed his eyes, as if hoping that this entire conversation was nothing but a nightmare. “Please, Matsuda.”

“Please drop the sarcasm or please let you in?”

Mello opened his blue eyes, which were now sparking with annoyance. Matsuda was beginning to worry that he’d overdone it, but Mello only said, “Both, I suppose.”

“Fine. Come in then.”

They’d barely stepped over the threshold when Mello blurted out, “It’s Near.”

Matsuda didn’t reply just yet. He steered Mello into the living room and sat him down on the settee. “What about Near?” Matsuda finally said, mentally preparing himself for the worst. “Is he not speaking to you?”

“He is, he is.” Looking jittery, Mello was drumming his fingers against the coffee table.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“It’s just different. Awkward. We talk, but it’s not the same. We’re too polite. We don’t joke around. He’s tried to talk to me about . . . you know. Of course, I’ve refused point-blank to talk about it. I mean, why would I want to hear about how . . . how _disgusted_ he is at the sight of me?” Mello shuddered. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to look at him. And it gets exhausting, not looking at him. I try looking at the ceiling, but that’s boring as hell. I try looking at the fridge, but that only makes my tummy grumble. I try — God, you don’t know how hard I try — not to speculate about what he might be thinking whenever he looks at me. Does he hate me now? Does he —”

Matsuda took the opportunity to interrupt when Mello drew breath. “Hey, you don’t know that Near feels that way. In fact, I’m sure he doesn’t. He’s talked to me about it, you know.”

This took Mello off guard. “What did he say?”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Well, _of course_ he would say that.”

“Be sensible. What could Near possibly have to gain by lying to me? If he really felt disgusted by the truth, don’t you think he’d just ask my permission to move out so that he can get away from you?”

Tense again, Mello dug his nails into his own lap. “I don’t know, Matsuda. Used to be, I could read Near’s mind so easily, but I can never tell what he’s thinking these days. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Of course you know what to do,” Matsuda said. “Talk to him.”

“I can’t.”

“It’s the only way.”

Mello was quiet for a while as he weighed his options in his head. Matsuda sat next to him and poked at his macaroni and cheese, his appetite all but obliterated by this drama.

“Can I move out?” Mello said suddenly.

Matsuda couldn’t believe his ears. “ _What?_ ”

“Move out. Of the flat.” Mello knew that he was being a coward, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Matsuda was apparently thinking along the same lines, for his voice was cold when he spoke. “Why in God’s name would you want to do that?”

“It’s what’s best for the both of us, especially Near. I can see how stressed he is, how hard he’s pushing himself to repeatedly bring up that topic that I keep shooting down. If this goes on, his performance in _Death Note_ will suffer. You don’t want that, do you?”

Matsuda hesitated, then said, “No, I don’t want that. But —”

“You see? I should move out and give him some peace of mind.”

“Mello. . . .”

“What, are you going to stop me?”

“Of course I won’t stop you, if that’s what you really want to do.” After an uncomfortable silence, Matsuda got up, walked to a shelf, and consulted a number of dusty volumes. He found what he was looking for in a deep purple one. Mello watched as Matsuda returned to his side and started turning the pages of what he now saw was a photo album. 

Matsuda stopped at a page near the end and pointed at one photograph.

Oh. Mello couldn’t help exhaling in surprise.

Two boys were standing on the edge of a football field, the grass shimmering bright green behind them. The taller one had fair hair cut radically short, blue eyes, and a face ruddy with excitement. He held a soccer ball under one arm, while his other arm was wrapped around the smaller boy’s shoulders. Beaming at the camera, the taller boy seemed to radiate happiness. The smaller boy, in contrast, slouched as if he didn’t want to be there. He had very pale skin, thick snowy hair, huge gray eyes, and a chunky sweater despite the beating sun. He wasn’t looking at the camera at all.

Mello recognized this picture. After all, the boys in the photograph were Near and himself. He recalled those days clearly, many years ago, back when they were young and careless and ignorant. They’d both landed in summer school — Mello for his pranks and general misbehavior, Near for the many absences he’d incurred due to poor health — and although other children in the same position had complained nonstop, the two had been ecstatic for the excuse to kick a ball around the field after lessons were done for the day. Mello would blitz around the grass, never losing spirit or steam, while Near would traipse behind, pushing past the always imminent asthma attacks.

Yes, Mello knew this scenery perfectly, but he could not for the life of him remember ever looking at this picture and noticing that Near had been staring at him with a shocking intensity. Mello felt a shiver of pleasure dart up his spine, and he said, trying to sound casual, “The hell is Near doing here, looking at me with such a gooey expression?”

Matsuda only barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “I don’t know, Mello. What do you think he’s doing?”

“He looks funny.”

“Not what I asked.”

“I know what you’re implying. Don’t mess with me, Matsuda. I’m not Near’s type.”

“Doesn’t seem that way to me.”

“What would you know about it? You’re not his best friend.”

As Mello was preoccupied with examining the old photograph, Matsuda’s mind was whirring fast, racing far ahead. “Listen, Mello. You’re not going to change your mind about moving out? No matter what I say?”

“No matter what,” Mello agreed.

Matsuda groaned. “Whatever. I already knew that something like this would happen sooner or later.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mello snorted.

“I’m serious. I predicted this turn of events. I would have asked you to move out anyway, so you saved me a lot of time and energy by bringing it up yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

With a flourish, Matsuda whipped out a paper from his back pocket. He handed it to a bewildered Mello. “What do you think?” he asked, grinning.

Mello was instantly turned off by the charts, graphs, and statistics riddling the sheet. “Just explain yourself, old man. Don’t make me read this.”

“These are the most recent survey results. If you look closely enough, you’ll notice a curious new preference of the viewership of our series.” Matsuda leaned back on the settee with a strangely smug expression on his face.

The text and the graphics were packed so tightly together that Mello practically had to press the paper against his nose to decipher anything. He read: _Most Popular Character for Males: L. Most Popular Character for Females: L._ (“Lucky bastard,” Mello said to no one in particular.) _Favorite Episode: Episode 18. Favorite Scene. . . . Least Popular Character for Males. . . . Least Popular Character for Females. . . . Team Light or Team L. . . . Favorite Pairing —_

Mello froze. He read that last part again. And another time. Jaw hanging open in shock, he turned to stare at Matsuda. The man was shaking with silent laughter.

“Matt/Mello!” Mello shrieked. “How the hell did this happen?!”

Unable to control himself any longer, Matsuda exploded with laughter. He clutched his stomach as the mirth took over his body.

“Oh, shut up, will you,” Mello said irritably.

“Sorry,” Matsuda gasped, trying to be serious again as Mello glared at him. But his tone was still teasing as he said, “So, Mello, problem solved. As you’ve already expressed a willingness to take drastic measures to preserve the welfare of our show, it’s perfectly reasonable to kill two birds with one stone — your moving out of the flat should lessen Near’s stress levels, and your moving into Matt’s university dormitory should keep the fans happy.” Matsuda’s eyes sparkled. He was in his element now. “As it happens, I’ve previously brought up this possibility to Matt, and he said that he’d be more than delighted to share his place with you. I’ve got it all covered, so there’s not a thing to be worried about. Matt’s an agreeable person to be around. I’ve taken quite a liking to him myself.” 

As Mello sputtered incoherently, Matsuda patted his back. “I only wish it didn’t have to happen this way,” Matsuda murmured, his voice tinged with unhappiness now. “Poor Near.”

“Poor me, you mean!” Mello snapped. “How the hell am I going to live with that annoying, incompetent —” He stopped himself before he could toss out more insults, and took a deep breath to calm down. “Well. It’s my fault this is happening, so it’s not like I can complain.”

“Then you’re not mad at Light?”

“He apologized, didn’t he? I’d look like the insensitive one if I rejected his apology. I know he regrets what he said, so we’re cool. There’s no going back. The damage is done.”

“Mello, I’m going to say this as many times as it takes for the message to get through your thick skull: the damage you perceive is imaginary. You’re beating yourself up for nothing.”

“So what? It’s my body to beat, my life to ruin. I’d rather hack myself with an axe than sit around, waiting for it to fall on my head.”


	6. Yellow Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PAIRINGS: Matt/Mello. Mello/Near.
> 
> SPOILERS? Yes, for the entire series.

“You know what? I think I’m taking my chances with Near, after all.”

“Too late to turn back now, Mello, my friend.”

As Matsuda drove to Matt’s off-campus dormitory, Mello was beginning to harbor serious doubts about this decision. For one, there was a lot less traffic than one might expect from a busy Tokyo thoroughfare at six in the evening. Not that there was a way for Matsuda to control the traffic, but still. The expression on his face was self-congratulatory, almost as if he was saying, _See, Mello? This is the right thing for you to do. Even the universe is conspiring for the Matt/Mello pairing to end up together._

Stifling the urge to shudder, Mello tried saying, “You know better than anyone that I’m a difficult person to deal with on a daily basis. Must we inflict my drama on Matt as well?”

“He’ll manage. He’s more persistent than you think.”

“Persistent? What does _persistence_ have to do with this?”

“Never mind,” Matsuda said in a singsong voice. Very suspicious.

The car shrieked to a stop. Mello was disoriented at first — lost in his apprehensions, he hadn’t noticed that they’d turned onto a narrow road with nothing to boast other than apartments stacked haphazardly. A gaggle of boys had been leaning against one of the buildings, smoking and stuffing their hands into their pockets in a spectacularly failed attempt to look older than their actual age range, but they now stared in wonder at Matsuda’s brand spanking new cobalt blue Porsche.

Matsuda leapt out, stretched his limbs, and sighed deeply, appearing to relish the dingy environment. He waved at the boys nearby, who called out coarse but warm greetings to him. “Come on,” he said, glancing at Mello, who was still sitting stony-faced inside the car.

“Are you shitting me right now?” Mello said acidly. “Matt lives _here?_ ”

“He does indeed,” Matsuda replied cheerfully, ignoring Mello’s disdain. “Over there.” He coaxed Mello out of the car and pointed to one of the generic gray buildings. Disregarding Mello’s protests, Matsuda proceeded to drag him into the dormitory and — after another careless wave at the landlord, who lazily held up his hand in response — straight up the rickety stairs. 

With his black suitcase in his right hand and Matsuda’s grip on his left arm, Mello tried his level best to avoid losing his footing lest he wind up tumbling down ten flights of stairs. Damn place didn’t even have an operating elevator!

At Room 1205, Matsuda hammered his fist against the door. They waited there for quite a while, and Mello realized with annoyance that his heart was beating at an accelerated rate. He cursed Matsuda under his breath, but deep down he understood, considering his own strict exercise regimen, that his rapidly increasing pulse rate had little to do with mounting eleven flights of stairs.

The door finally opened, and there Matt stood, leaning against the doorframe and smiling at them. “Sorry for the wait,” he said. “I’ve been getting Mello’s half of the bedroom ready. I nearly forgot that you guys were coming, you see.”

“ _Half_ of the bedroom? You mean I don’t get my own room?” Mello made his voice sound spiteful even as he tried to avoid looking directly into Matt’s eyes, which he now knew were blue like his own. But darker, more intense . . . a color far too pretty to be wasted on a weirdo like Matt.

Matsuda clucked his tongue. “It’s a dorm. What do you expect? We’re fortunate that Matt doesn’t already have a roommate. Anyway, Matt’s busy working on his term paper these days, so be sure not to bug him.”

“If he’s this busy, then maybe it’s a bad idea for me to stay here,” Mello said in another valiant attempt to worm himself out of this predicament.

But Matt only beamed. “I think it’s a great idea! I’m happy to have you here, Mello.”

_But I’m not happy to be here,_ Mello said, but only in his head.

Matsuda pretended to glance down at his watch, except he wasn’t wearing a watch. “Matt — sorry, Mail, I have to go. Take care of Mello for me. Have fun, you two.”

“Oh, we will,” Matt assured him. He yanked Mello toward him and wrapped an arm around Mello’s skinny waist — Matsuda looked like he’d died and gone to shipping heaven — then swung the door shut, as if he and Mello needed privacy.

Once they were alone, Matt’s other arm snaked around Mello’s waist so that he was now embracing Mello from behind. Caught by surprise, Mello dropped his suitcase, but Matt’s face didn’t so much as flicker in response to the thump. Matt’s chin bumped against Mello’s shoulder, and there was a low murmur against Mello’s ear. “Hey, what should we do now that Matsuda-san’s gone?”

Mello resisted the urge to shiver as Matt’s warm breath coasted over his neck. “Get away from me,” Mello said, his voice infinitely steadier than his heart.

“Should I?”

“Yes. You need to work on your term paper, remember?”

After a beat or two of silence, Matt began to laugh, the tremors of his laughter passing over to Mello’s back.

Mello managed to extricate himself from Matt’s hold. “What the hell, Matt? Do you always invade personal space this way?”

“Not always,” Matt said. “But it’s just . . . so _strange_. The fact that you’re here.”

“What’s so strange about it?”

Matt grinned and gave a shrug that was so exaggerated that Mello was certain he was hiding something. He didn’t think it wise to ask, though — what if the question and its answer triggered yet another excess of touchy-feely contact? It was difficult enough to deal with Matt’s bizarre antics, let alone his unexpected penchant for surprise hugs.

Mello sulked and sighed until Matt finally raised his eyes from his laptop screen to stare at him. “What do you want from me, Mello? Just tell me.”

“My bed is _tiny._ How do you expect me to sleep there?”

“If you want, we could push our beds together and —” 

“No way in hell I’m sleeping with you. Not now, not ever.”

Matt continued as if Mello hadn’t spoken. “— and you can sleep there. I’ll take the couch. It’s not a problem.”

“ _Not a problem?_ ” Mello’s voice was bordering on hysteria. “Do you know how freaking bright the bedroom light is? I’ll never be able to sleep if the light is turned on!”

“Then turn it off,” Matt suggested.

“But then it’ll be too dark!” Mello whined.

“There’s a lamp on the dresser.”

Mello made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “ _Of course_ there’s a lamp on the dresser. I can see that. Do you think I’m blind? The lamp’s existence or absence isn’t my issue. My issue is that the lamplight is yellow.”

“And . . .?”

“I hate yellow light.”

Matt snapped his laptop shut, got up, and walked into the bedroom with his laptop in tow. Wondering whether he had made Matt angry, Mello sank down into the ratty cushion of the couch and winced as the exposed edge of a spring poked against his backside.

Mello was glaring at the offending spring when a loud creaking sound from the bedroom made him jump. A minute passed, then Matt poked his head out the doorway of the bedroom. “What are you waiting for?” he called. “Come on!”

Mello followed him inside. The bedroom was dark except for the yellow glow of the lamp. Matt sat on the floor with his back against the wall and with his laptop nestled on his lap. He touch-typed effortlessly as he consulted a sheaf of papers next to him. 

Mello sat squarely on the center of the two beds that Matt had pushed together. “Why’d you turn on the lamp?” Mello’s tone was accusatory.

“You said that you didn’t want to turn the bedroom light on or off, so I turned on the lamp, which is halfway between. What’s wrong with lamplight anyway?”

“I told you. It’s yellow. I can’t stand yellow light.”

Matt didn’t even glance up. “Mello, if you don’t want to be alone while you sleep, just say so. Everybody gets lonely sometimes. No need to feel ashamed.”

“ _Lonely?_ Who said anything about being lonely?”

“You might not admit it out loud, but don’t worry. I’m a good listener.”

Fuming, Mello made sure to face away from Matt as he lay down and tugged up the blanket to his chin. Muttering angrily to himself, he tossed and turned for many minutes over the sheets. He desperately desired some shut-eye after the heightened stress of the past couple of days, but before any of that, he craved a certain familiar _something_ to calm himself, the comfort of creamy sweetness on his tongue. . . .

A darting movement in Matt’s periphery made him look up from his laptop. “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, but Mello had disappeared beyond the doorway within a split-second. Setting his schoolwork aside, Matt followed the blurred whip of Mello’s black shirt to the kitchen, where he arrived just in time to witness the contents of his refrigerator being unceremoniously pillaged by his new roommate. Shocked, Matt could only stand and watch as his precious provisions were tossed over Mello’s shoulder: salsa dip, a stick of celery, a bag of gummy worms, a bottle of fresh milk, a carton of eggs (Matt winced at that), and uncooked strips of Fakin’ Bacon.

Seemingly unsatisfied despite the extent of his destruction, Mello turned on Matt, who backed away at once. “Where’s the damn chocolate?!” Mello yelled.

“What chocolate?” Matt asked as calmly as ever, attempting to restore reason into the conversation.

“My chocolate!” Mello roared. “Where in the world are you hiding it?!”

“I’m not hiding —”

“You mean you didn’t stock any chocolate? Didn’t Matsuda mention that I can’t live without chocolate? This is a goddamn nightmare! I can’t believe this! That’s it! I’m leaving!”

Mello didn’t bother to retrieve his suitcase — he could surely send someone to pick up his stuff later. He marched to the front door, but before he could reach for the knob, Matt clutched his arm. He tried to pull away, but Matt held on tightly.

“Didn’t I already tell you?” Mello said venomously. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

Matt released his arm. “Listen, Mello. If you leave now, where would you go? Do you know how to get to the train station? Did you even bring your wallet, your phone?”

Mello groaned and headed back into the bedroom. He was reaching under the pillow for the phone that he’d indeed forgotten, when Matt, standing by the bedroom door, spoke again. “I don’t want you to go, Mello. Don’t leave. Stay.”

Mello rolled his eyes at him. “Why are you being so melodramatic? Are you rehearsing for your next audition? Yesterday, _Death Note_ , and tomorrow, a telenovela?”

“Who’s the one being melodramatic here, attempting to escape after barely a single day? Hey, if this is about your chocolate, I can _get_ you your chocolate. You just need to let me know —”

“This isn’t about the chocolate,” Mello interrupted, his eyes trained on the floor now. 

“Of course it isn’t. Truth is, you just miss him, don’t you?”

Mello’s eyes darted to Matt’s face. “What did you say?”

“You heard what I said.”

Mello threw himself down on the bed to conceal the blush suddenly heating up his cheeks. “I don’t miss anyone!” he protested, voice somewhat smothered by the pillow.

“Well, if you say so.” 

Mello didn’t reply, and didn’t move as he felt Matt gently tugging the blanket over his prone body again. “Mello, before you go to sleep,” Matt was saying, “about the chocolate —”

“Forget about the chocolate. I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just get back to your term paper. I can deal.”

Mello heard shuffling as Matt presumably returned to his laptop and to his papers on the floor. 

Mello shifted to a more comfortable position on the bed. Time to sleep away any residual cravings for chocolate and escape. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to wake up and discover that the past day had only been a nightmare. He’d wake up, not back in his and Near’s flat, which offered nothing except agonizing awkwardness now, but somewhere — _anywhere_ — else, free from fear, paranoia, and the cursed weight of unspoken disgust and disappointment looming over his shoulders.

The undiluted sunlight streaming through the open window seemed to punch Mello’s eyes as he awoke the next morning. He sat up and massaged his face. Damn yellow light.

Yawning hugely, he looked around the bedroom. “Matt?” he said tentatively, before remembering that Matt was a student and was probably at school. He rose from the bed, then ambled to the kitchen for a glass of milk. He was holding out hope that Matt had gone back to return the milk to the refrigerator after he had fallen asleep.

When he yanked open the fridge door, he gasped.

Inside, it was absolutely packed with chocolate. Ghirardelli, Godiva, Ferrero Rocher, Cadbury, Hershey’s, Snickers, Milky Way, Kit Kat, Mars Bars, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. . . . There were countless brands — gourmet and common alike — with a single slab or bar or kiss per brand. To put it another way, this fridge contained a slice of heaven, smack dab in the middle of hell.

Disbelieving, Mello slammed the fridge door shut. He opened it. Closed it. Opened it again. It truly wasn’t a dream.

An orange post-it that had probably been stuck securely to the fridge, at least before Mello started wildly swinging the door open and shut, fluttered to his feet. He crouched down and picked it up. The words were written in an untidy scrawl, dashed off in a hurry. Matt’s writing.

The note said, _I wasn’t sure which your favorite was._


	7. Pink Cheeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PAIRINGS: Matt/Mello. Mello/Near.
> 
> SPOILERS? Yes, for the entire series.

Biotechnology time.

His professor spoke of Huntington’s and polydactyly, his classmates spoke of scandals and gossip, and he, as always, remained detached from everything around him.

“And now we will move on to autosomal recessive inheritance. One example of this is lactose intolerance, a condition in which an individual cannot break down the sugar of dairy products into glucose and galactose, thus. . . .”

“And I was like, you know, super pissed. Then he was like, baby, I’ll make it up to you this Sunday. And I was like, okay. Then not even five minutes later, you know what I heard? I found out that he, like, totally made out with her at that party! Yeah, I’m, like, not even kidding! So like, naturally, I. . . .”

With a sigh, Mail tuned out of the inane conversation that he was overhearing. He leaned back on his chair and twirled his pen with long fingers. As dull as this moment was, it could be a lot worse, honestly. His classmates could have recognized him as Matt, which would be a right pain in the ass. 

Mail thanked his lucky stars that he was so average-looking. Average brown hair, average blue eyes, average weight, average height, average clothes. Without the goggles and the striped shirt, no one would connect him to his character on _Death Note_. That’s how boring he was. Invisible, even.

Mail did have friends, yes. For some inexplicable reason, the popular kids tended to gravitate toward him and seek him out during his free periods. The prettiest girls on campus, in particular, stuck to him as if by super glue. He responded to such unwanted companions whenever they addressed him, but otherwise he regarded them with about as much interest as one would devote to a nondescript fixture, such as a fire extinguisher or a tree.

“Mail! Hey, Mail!”

Someone on the opposite side of the classroom was presently hissing his name. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he turned to look. Takahashi Yuuka, one of the more persistent girls, was frantically waving him over.

With a quick glance toward the professor, who was facing the board and inscribing some scientific term in chalk, Mail swiftly traversed the room to plop down on the empty seat beside the beckoning girl. She beamed at him, and he shot back a half-smile, knowing by now that this was the only way to appease her.

“Listen, Mail. The whole gang’s planning to get together this weekend —”

He interrupted her right there. Better to nip such tiresome matters in the bud. “Sorry, but I’m busy this weekend.”

She tutted, but there was no real annoyance in her tone. “Mail, what a bad boy you are! I haven’t even finished telling you our plans, and you’re already blowing me off!”

“But I seriously can’t. Not this weekend. Sorry, Takahashi-san.”

“Didn’t I already tell you before? We’re friends, aren’t we? Call me by my first name.”

He shrugged. “Right. I forgot.”

“Say it, Mail.”

“Yuuka.”

A blush now coloring her cheeks, she turned away and pretended to jot down notes. Mail watched her for a bit. Ten seconds, at most. He then shifted his gaze toward the clouds drifting beyond the window, which were infinitely more diverting.

After Biotechnology, Mail ambled around the campus grounds, with Yuuka hanging onto his arm and chattering nonstop. They heard a commotion ahead of them, and although Yuuka wondered aloud what the fuss could be about, he merely steered them away from the crowd that mostly consisted of girls. He had no desire whatsoever to entangle himself in such an uproar, regardless of its nature.

“Hang on.” Yuuka stopped in her tracks and squeezed Mail’s arm. “Isn’t that. . . .”

“What? What is it?” Should Mail simply twist away from her grip? Would she soon forgive him for such discourtesy? Would it even matter in the long run, whether she forgave him at all?

“Isn’t that guy . . . Mello from _Death Note_?”

A thrill of shock coursed through Mail’s bones, and he whirled around at once to check. True enough, it was Mello standing in the center of the crowd. He seemed to be asking questions of the people around him and pouting in frustration as he received only shrieks instead of answers. Some girls were brazenly stealing hugs from him, giggling as they did so, while others reverently stroked his skin like he was some sort of descended deity. Mello responded to neither form of unwelcome contact — he appeared not even to notice this blatant harassment. 

Before Mail even realized what had come over him, he was already laboring his way through the crowd, pushing girls aside and ignoring them as they protested. He yelled his new roommate’s name, but his voice, only one in a clamor of calls, was drowned out in the noise. 

With his most forceful push yet, Mail managed to part the crowd. Mello was in plain sight now. Just then, a stray foot in Mail’s way sent him pitching forward, colliding with something hard on his way down.

Grunting in pain, Mail straightened up to ease the pressure from his bruised knees. With a start, he realized that he was practically sitting on top of the person that he’d knocked over, and it wasn’t just any person.

It was Mello, of course.

“Shit. Sorry, Mello.” 

Mail made a valiant effort to stand up and restore normalcy to the situation, but Mello yanked him back down by a fistful of his T-shirt. 

No one could direct a death glare quite like Mello. “Matt?! The hell are you doing?!”

“I — I’m not doing this on purpose. I tripped.”

“You are _so_ going to pay for this,” Mello threatened, pulling him even closer.

Matt winced, cheeks turning pink. No good. Being so close to Mello. . . . “Will you please let me go?”

“And why in the world should I listen to you?”

“Can’t you see? Everyone’s watching.”

“All the better.” With a devious smirk, Mello grabbed Matt’s nape, twisting his head in order to whisper right against his ear. “Fan service, remember?”

“You’re real passionate about this, huh?” Matt whispered in return. “Want me to kiss you then, for the fans?”

From Mello, a sharp intake of breath. He then shoved Matt off his body with all his strength, cussing loudly and forcing Matt to land painfully on his back. With all the oxygen punched out from his lungs like this, Matt’s laughter came out in gasps.

All around them, a beat of silence. Then the reality of what they’d seen sank in, and the fangirls commenced screaming in full force. In fact, even the students who didn’t watch _Death Note_ found themselves buoyed up by these waves of unrestrained enthusiasm. No one — whether fan or hater or neutral observer — could deny that what they’d just witnessed was a touch too intense for an exchange between coactors or friends.

The way they all saw it, it felt almost intrusive to watch Matt and Mello interacting with each other in this manner. When the two of them spoke, they seemed to notice no one else, to care about not a goddamn thing in the world.

Everyone present at that moment was instantly converted to the Matt/Mello ship.

There was only one exception, and her name was Takahashi Yuuka. Imagine her shock upon discovering that her crush, Mail Jeevas, played a surprisingly popular character from the hottest show on television. Imagine her amazement as every student around her chanted Mail’s stage name in conjunction with another man’s. Not that Yuuka felt even a smidgen of envy — she had long come to terms with the fact that Mail would never return her attentions. This ever elusive quality was part of his charm, part of the thrill of chasing him. So Yuuka wasn’t jealous in the least. Only extremely surprised.

In all the time she’d known him, since that first day they’d sat beside each other during freshman orientation, Yuuka had never seen Mail show genuine emotion. Not once. She derived strange comfort from his eternal boredom. He would sidle up to her, unfailingly indifferent, whether her hair was poufed to perfection or tangled as a bird’s nest.

But the boy that Yuuka saw that day, the one who abandoned her without a word to rush to Mello’s side as if his life depended on it . . . the one who whispered and smiled and blushed and laughed . . . that wasn’t the Mail that she’d always pined after. She didn’t know this boy at all, for he was exclusively reserved for only one person to know.


	8. Golden Fritter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PAIRINGS: Matt/Mello. Mello/Near.
> 
> SPOILERS? Yes, for the entire series.
> 
> A few choice paragraphs made me cackle so loudly that I woke up my dogs writing this. Enjoy!

“So,” Matt drawled, “you never did tell me why you went all this way just to visit me.”

Mello shrugged. “I just happened to take a walk and decided to pop in to say hi. Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“Let’s see . . . so you _just happened_ to walk for about a kilometer and _just happened_ to pass by a university and _just happened_ to apply for a visitor’s permit and _just happened_ to cook up a commotion as a celebrity asking around for a commoner like me. That sounds entirely accidental. You won’t be the last to ever commit this highly specific series of mistakes, I’m sure.”

Mello had to stifle a giggle at this. “Shut up.”

They were walking home together, staying on the sidewalk, their hair whipped into clouds of yellow and brown as cars whooshed by at breakneck speed.

Matt clasped his hands behind his head and flashed a grin. “Really, Mello. Spare me the suspense. Why are you being so nice to me today?”

“Can’t I be nice? Am I not allowed?”

“Sure, you can be nice. I’m just saying, this type of out-of-character niceties can make the people who know you extremely suspicious. Where has the real Mello gone? Has he been abducted by a spaceship and imprisoned on an alien planet?”

Mello shook a fist in his direction. “Don’t make me go over there and hit you.”

“I’d do just about anything to make you come over here. Come on. Hit me.”

“Fan service is over for today, Matt. Save the theatrics for next time.”

Matt snickered. “What’s wrong with a little practice, hey?”

“I’m shocked you even thought to cooperate earlier. You’re not part of the official Death Note family, so you’re not required like we are. Why bother with something so troublesome?”

“Are you kidding? Matsuda is giving me a shitload of dough just to live with you. Playing around with you is simply one of the perks of this arrangement.”

“You shitface.”

Matt laughed. “Oho. Upping the name-calling game, I see. I think I like that name. _Shitface._ It suits me, doesn’t it?”

“It does. I’m glad you’re warming up to it.”

In the wake of this weak comeback, a long silence followed.

Matt soon cleared his throat and spoke. “Mello?”

“What?”

“Why are you so nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re sweating bullets, and it’s not even hot today. Could it be that —”

“All right, all right! Where do you want to eat? It’s my treat.”

For an agonizing moment, Matt didn’t reply. Feeling jittery, Mello glanced over at him, but he was suddenly gone from Mello’s side. 

Abruptly whirling around, Mello spied Matt several paces behind, frozen wide-eyed in his tracks.

Mello jogged back to him. “Matt? Hey. Did you hear what I said?

“I — I heard what you said.”

Mello waited for more, but nothing appeared forthcoming. “What’s your answer then?”

“Anywhere.”

“No need to be shy. I brought all my cards with me, so you can go as wild as you want.”

Matt was carefully examining Mello’s expression now. “Look, if this is about —”

Mello cut him off. “It’s not about anything. I just felt like eating out, and it seemed rude not to ask you to come along, given that we’ve just started rooming together and all.”

Matt blinked, as if reeling from a sense of whiplash. “Oh. Right. That makes sense.”

Mello gritted his teeth. He was screwing this all up, wasn’t he? Damn it all.

Before Mello could dwell for too long upon his own glaring tactlessness, Matt was calling him over to an inconspicuous kiosk by the sidewalk.

“Over here! It’s takoyaki time!”

Mello approached the kiosk and stared down at the golden spheres crackling over a black-topped stove.

“Here?” Mello finally said. “I just told you I was willing to go anywhere with you. Do you need more time to think about what you want?”

“No. I want to eat right here. Are you treating me or not?”

Mello sighed. “Fine.”

Mello might have regretted conceding to Matt’s choice of cuisine — the antithesis of good taste or glamor, it seemed — but just then Matt beamed so brightly that Mello’s heart _lurched._ Mello clutched at his own chest, balling up the black fabric of his quilted vest. What . . . what the _hell_ was that . . .?

“Four orders, please!” Matt was saying cheerfully to the street vendor.

The vendor gave a thumbs-up sign. “Right on!”

Mello crossed his arms over his chest, determined to sulk some more over Matt’s pathetic idea for a date — hang on, did he just think the word _date?_ — but the cooking process soon piqued his interest and made him drop his guard. “They look a bit like chocolate balls, especially when arranged over a tray like that,” Mello commented.

“Hmm.” Matt rubbed his chin, contemplating. “You know, you might be onto something here.”

The mention of chocolate reminded Mello of why they were both even there, and he clenched his fists, mortified with himself for so thoughtlessly bringing that up.

Matt, however, showed no sign of brooding over Mello’s tantrum from the night before. He continued to survey the takoyaki with renewed interest. “Octopus fritters are somewhat bumpy, yes, but you could reason with yourself that those ridges are chopped hazelnuts, similar to the way Ferrero Rocher does it. The color might be a little off, but then again, I suppose that if you can have white chocolate, you can have this sort of . . . yellowish chocolate too, topped with chocolate shavings and syrup.” Matt nodded sagely. “Indeed, you’ve cleverly cracked the code. Octopus fritters appear to be the distant relative of chocolate balls.” 

Matt smiled triumphantly at him, and Mello was so taken aback that he smiled in return. Obviously, Mello didn’t _truly_ believe that takoyaki could ever be related to his beloved chocolate, considering that chocolate was simply beyond comparison, but the way that Matt had taken Mello’s inane comment in stride, the way that Matt ran amok with such a ridiculous concept and analyzed it at face value for Mello’s sole enjoyment, the way that Matt apparently possessed an insatiable curiosity about everything around him . . . it was as if he never got bored. Matt had been like this too when he’d first played with the Nintendo DS — he’d asked endless questions, and upon receiving only inadequate responses, he’d swiftly set out to find the answers himself.

“Four orders of takoyaki!” the vendor announced, jolting Mello from his reverie.

Mello extracted his wallet from his too-tight leather pants to pay up, while Matt transferred the paper plates to a tiny wooden table nearby. 

Taking a seat across from Matt, Mello jerked his head backward as Matt brandished a toothpick dispenser right at his face. 

“Let’s eat, Mello!” And without further ado, Matt savagely speared an octopus fritter and popped it into his mouth.

Mello narrowed his eyes as Matt sighed in gastronomic bliss. “I realize that you’re a big believer in takoyaki supremacy, but three orders for yourself, really?”

“Wha —?” Matt’s jaw dropped, revealing the masticated food in his mouth. “Two for me, two for you! Of course!”

“Two for me?! But I don’t even —” Mello slapped a hand over his own face and groaned.

Mello felt a hand settle over his shoulder. Matt was shaking him, gently but insistently.

“Mello, what’s wrong? Do you hate takoyaki? Are you allergic? You should have told me beforehand!”

Mello slid his palm downward to regard Matt. “No, I’m not allergic to seafood,” Mello clarified. “And I don’t know if I hate takoyaki or not. I’ve never tried it before. Those, um, _squirming_ things on top . . . they always creeped me out as a kid.”

“The bonito flakes, you mean?”

“Yeah, I used to throw a fit whenever my Mom bought takoyaki for me. She learned not to, eventually.”

Matt was all solicitude this time. “Do you want to get out of here, then? Is this upsetting your stomach?”

“Nah, it’s fine. I can’t very well leave now, right after grandly declaring that I would treat you to any meal you wanted. Besides, it’s good to try something new once in a while, right?”

“Right! Look, the bonito flakes have already stopped curling, so you don’t need to worry about that.” Matt snapped his fingers as something occurred to him. “Ah, but you need to watch out for the temperature! The balls are surprisingly hot in their center.”

Mello smirked at this. “If you consider all the bullshit I withstood during filming, you’ll know that such a minor elevation in temperature won’t turn me off. I can bear with things much hotter than this.”

Confidence more or less restored, Mello screwed his eyes shut and shoved a ball into his mouth. He kept his eyes closed as he silently savored the taste. Before long, he was motionless, seemingly petrified into a statue right in front of Matt.

“Mello . . .?” A hand gripped Mello’s shoulder, shaking him again. Matt’s voice was imploring. “Do you hate it that much? If you can’t stand the way it tastes, just spit it out! Don’t force yourself!”

Mello opened his eyes to see Matt’s face surprisingly close to his own. Resisting the urge to retreat from this sudden proximity, Mello started to speak. “I think. . . .”

“What?” Matt demanded, practically beside himself with concern.

“I think that takoyaki is way more like a plain Dunkin’ Donuts Munchkin than like a Ferrero Rocher ball.”

A beat of silence, then they both exploded into hysterical fits of laughter. Even after these initial fits had subsided, they still had to smother the occasional snort as they both returned to their food with much more gusto than before.

Mello smacked his lips after demolishing his fifth octopus ball. “You know, although this place wouldn’t be in my top ten list of preferred places to dine — or even in my top one hundred, come to think of it — I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun. Oddly enough.”

Matt didn’t detect, or at least opted to ignore, the note of sarcasm in his roommate’s voice. “Thanks, Mello.”

Mello almost protested by saying, _But that’s my line, Matt! I’ve been trying to thank you all this time!_ He didn’t push it though. Nothing more needed to be said, lest he ruin the effortless perfection of this moment.


	9. Neon Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PAIRINGS: Matt/Mello. Mello/Near.
> 
> SPOILERS? Yes, for the entire series.

“So, uh, Matt . . . about the chocolates you got for me. They’re . . . um, they’re super sweet. You know, you shouldn’t have. Th — tha —”

Mello buried his head in his hands and yelled in frustration. He couldn’t say it. He simply couldn’t.

Not too long ago he’d been off the charts — admired by all, even worshipped by some. Despite Matsuda’s advice to the contrary, Mello had voluntarily dug through his own mountains of mail to unearth some truly abominable mementos of eternal devotion from fans, with the express purpose of showing them to Near. Together, they’d squirm and squeal in mingled delight and disgust.

Such was Mello’s skill that, even though his character had been conceptualized as the brash, impulsive, and wholly unsympathetic foil to Near’s more moral and measured nature, fans routinely flocked the forums to share their soft and sensitive reinterpretations where originally there were none. Mello had a tender heart, tainted only by a tragic past, the fans collectively decided.

How then had he been reduced to this? Why was he now staring at his own reflection, all sweaty and flushed as he trained words of sincere gratitude to roll naturally off his tongue? All this stuttering for the sake of someone that Mello didn’t even like!

Well, okay, for the sake of someone that Mello was _determined_ not to like.

Mello swallowed and launched into his next attempt. “Matt. Matt, I wanted to thank you for —”

Just then, the doorbell rang.

“Oh for Christ’s sake!” Mello spun away from the bathroom sink and stomped toward the entrance. He threw the door open, ready to scream profanities at the person who’d unwittingly interrupted his momentum, but when he saw his visitor, his rage instantly evaporated.

“L!” Mello positively sang out, throwing his arms around his second closest friend.

L’s wide eyes widened even further in response to this uncharacteristically warm reception, but he patted Mello on the back all the same. “You must be in a bad way if this is how you greet me,” L murmured.

“You have no freaking idea,” Mello moaned, reverting to the conspiratorially chatty side of himself that had lain dormant ever since his fictional death day party back in the flat he’d shared with Near.

As they settled on Matt’s magenta couch, Mello fondly recalled the days when Light’s and L’s place had been a mere train ride away. Whenever he’d been in a bad mood and Near had been too lost in his toys to notice, he’d show up at the doorstep of his older friends, always unannounced but never unwelcome. Light would strike up a conversation and a match for a fresh cigarette, while L would putter about the living room to fluff up pillows and spread fleecy blankets. Once L’s preparations were over, the three of them would huddle together on the living room floor to play retro video games or to cycle through tasteless TV comedies. Light would either spit out swear words or howl in laughter, L would entertain them with random comments about the most irrelevant matters, and Mello would snigger so much that chocolate milk often snorted from his nostrils. Good times.

Snapping back to the present, Mello now snarled, “Would you get a load of this couch? It’s ridiculous! Why can’t I just stay with you and Light instead?”

With spindly fingers, L scratched at a threadbare cushion. “It does seem fairly worn down. Perhaps you should go out with Matt over the weekend, pick out a new couch together?”

Mello rolled his eyes. “I’m talking about the color! What kind of dude would willingly choose a _magenta_ couch?”

“You would.”

“I’d never!”

L smiled and mussed up Mello’s golden hair. “Oh, please. You and I both know that if not for the costume designer’s unfortunate affinity for the achromatic aesthetic, you’d be decked out in flamingo go-go boots and rose gold puffy coats on the regular. And you have the gall to question this boy’s taste in furniture?” Mello parted his mouth to argue, but L held up his palm to silence him. “I wouldn’t give Matt a hard time, if I were you. The kid seems decent enough.”

“You’re only saying that because you don’t know him!”

“And you do? Mello, you always assume the worst of everyone around you, regardless of their actual intentions.”

Mello groaned. “Is this why you’ve come here? Did you visit to hurl insults at me?”

“I’m here for Mail, actually.”

Mello narrowed his eyes. What business could L have with Matt? “He’s at school right now. Based on the schedule he’s taped to the fridge, he’ll be back in around an hour.”

“I’ll wait for him, then.”

Mello couldn’t stand this suspense. “Why? What do you want with him?”

“I just need to convey a message. As you know, the rest of the main cast is still busy filming the show, so Matsuda sent me in his stead.”

“What’s the message?”

“I’ll tell you too once Mail gets here,” L assured him.

“Matsuda said _what?_ ” Mello and Matt yelped in unison. They glanced at each other, with Mello appearing annoyed that they’d been in sync, and with Matt looking thrilled for the same reason.

“Please refrain from shooting the messenger,” L said blandly, surveying their scandalized expressions. “I’m just passing along Matsuda’s decision. For all intents and purposes, Matt is now a member of the _Death Note_ main cast. We’re having a small get-together in Near’s flat to make it official, but the change is as good as done. Matsuda is just looking for some excuse to deliver speeches again, I’m sure.”

Mello resisted the urge to shake L by the shoulders and beg him not to make such preposterous jokes. Instead, he looked over at Matt to see how he was taking this news.

Matt’s smile was stiff as can be, a far cry from his usual hearty grin. But why would Matt even feel the need to _force_ a smile? Mello couldn’t fathom it. Anyone else would feel pleased as punch to know that they’d been included in the main cast of the so-called “most sensational television show today,” right?

“That’s . . . awesome news!” Matt was saying now.

“Why, L?” Mello demanded. “I don’t get this at all!”

“You already know why,” L replied. “Just think a little harder. What does Matsuda care about most in the world?”

Mello bit his bottom lip and glared down at the floor for a few seconds, then the answer finally flashed in neon lights inside his skull. Of course! “The surveys. Matsuda must think that adding Matt to the family will improve the survey results.”

L once again patted Mello on the head. “Right you are. Clever boy.”

“Is someone going to explain this to me?” Matt’s voice was suddenly considerably louder. Indignant, almost. “I’m still lost.”

“You don’t need to overthink this,” L said to him. “What matters is you’re going to be a star.” L reached out to also ruffle Matt’s hair, as was his habit when dealing with Mello or Near, but Matt reacted in the strangest way — he violently jerked away from L’s touch, then took a giant step backward, as if fending off all future attempts at physical contact.

L rearranged the hurt on his face into a slight smile. He stuffed both hands into the pockets of his jeans before speaking again. “Which particular aspect of this announcement puzzles you? If you let me know, then I can explain.”

“Why make this change _now?_ ” Matt asked. “The character of Matt — a bit part, no less — is already dead. What does anyone have to gain from elevating me to the main cast at this point in time? Plus, didn’t Matsuda decide on the members of the _Death Note_ family years and years ago? It’s called a family, not a club, for a reason. No one gets added or removed. Ever.”

“Don’t you get it yet?” Mello burst out, furious on L’s behalf. Who the hell did Matt think he was, dissing L to his face and not even bothering to apologize? “That Matsuda, he’s a maniac about the ratings. He’d happily murder me in my sleep if a survey’s findings ever suggested that my actual death would boost the show’s popularity. The praise of our viewers is Matsuda’s number one priority. He caters to whatever the fans want. You think that _Death Note_ is a TV show? It’s not. It’s nothing but a goddamn publicity stunt. That’s what he told —”

“Enough, Mello,” L warned.

After a brief silence among them, Matt cleared his throat and stuck out his hand toward L. The stiff smile was again plastered over Matt’s face. “Thank you so much for coming all the way here to tell me about this, L-san.”

L extracted his right hand from his pocket to shake Matt’s proffered palm. “Just L. We’re family now, after all.”

“Thank you for telling me about this, L,” Matt amended. “Please let Matsuda-san know that I’m happy — no, _honored_ — to accept this once-in-a-lifetime offer.”

But even as Matt said these words, Mello could sense the waves of resentment radiating from his skin. As Mello kept watching, Matt swallowed visibly. Was Matt squeamish, perhaps, in the face of this monumental announcement? Or was he steeling himself to withstand this continuing contact with a person that he was determined not to like?

No. A person that Matt didn’t like, period. Mello couldn’t be sure, but he had a pretty strong hunch.


End file.
